


Burn With You

by seizethelight



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Drift Compatibility, F/M, Jaegers are hunters, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, so there we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizethelight/pseuds/seizethelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Argents have always been hunters - jaegers in their own right. Now they just have better armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn With You

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, wrote a Pacific Rim/Teen Wolf crossover because I am terrible. 
> 
> Obvious liberties taken with the timelines/mythology of both works. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

He sees her in the drift, a feedback loop of long brown curls racing away and towards him at the same time. 

"Daddy, catch me!" 

40 drops and 40 kills on sim, and Ally was the youngest in her class. All she'd wanted since her aunt died was to step into a Jaeger, pilot one of the robots, step in line to take her place in the family business. A decade earlier, it was werewolves and kanima, crossbows and machine guns. Now, it's thirty story robots and monsters for all their bestiaries never even knew existed. The Argents are and always have been hunters - jaegers in their own right. Now they just have better armor.

Victoria would throttle him for this, putting Allison in the harness so early. Kate had crumpled under a year of combat, and all the training on Earth hadn't been able to prevent the radiation from creeping in, corrupting what morality she had left. Victoria was never supposed to set foot into a conn-pod, much less be ripped out in the Gulf, tossed into the water like a ragdoll, left with only a helmet to bury under a hero's cross. 

Now Allison's here, his girl, going under for a test run with Chris. It's a foregone conclusion they'll drift, their bond is deep, always has been, even without the tech. She;ll be brilliant, he has no doubt. He just wanted so much more for her.

No, Allison was never destined for this life, it wasn't in the plans. The drift wrecked people, destroyed the connection between them far more often than it brought them together. You see things in the drift, things you can't hide, no matter how hard you try. He knows what it does to co-pilots and as Chris looks at his daughter, hair braided back, a fierce determination setting her jaw, he's not sure he wants Allison to know it too. She's laughing with the tech, nodding her readiness for the PONS to settle over her skull. 

His girl, eighteen and ready to save the world. 

Chris' stomach sours at what awaits her in the hazy blue ether and he steels himself to lock down errant memory, the flashes of those things she doesn't need to know. The questions without answers, they've stayed that way for a reason. The truth about Gerard, everything with Kate - God, Kate. Chris was sure the glimpses of that were what shoved Victoria out of alignment, crippled their Jaeger in the water. He wishes with everything in him that Ally could stay clear of that. 

Wishes have no place in the world today, though. Argents don't rely on luck, they rely on intel and the assurance they can do the job better than anyone else.

She looks over at him, a flash of those dimples in a quick grin belying her rigid strength, brutally reminding Chris, just for a moment, that she's still a child. She's HIS child. The nausea creeps up into his chest, burning his throat. 

"Allison?" 

She arches a brow, and he knows she wants to laugh, silvery peals bouncing off the slick surfaces. "Daddy. Can it wait? In two minutes you won't even have to say it, I'll already know." 

He swallows it down, the fear, the acid guilt and just nods. "Stay with me, don't chase the RABIT. We're just testing it today." Their helmets click into place, the conductor gel draining from the visors. Through the mic, his words are soft before comms kick in from HQ. He doesn't believe it, but it's habit to say it anyways. "Good luck, sweetheart."

She flexes her hand in the gloves, flattens her palm out towards him, before swooping into a thumbs-up. 

He hears the ticking countdown from LOCCENT, and Chris shuts his eyes.

Allison's dress is red, checkered with ties on the shoulder, and she has a ribbon wound through her dark hair. Chris sets down the case, drops his bag and catches her as she leaps into his arms. 

"You caught me, Daddy!" 

"Always, baby. I'll always catch you." 

Chris feels a flush of warmth, security and strength surrounding him, and it's not his memory anymore, it's hers. 

She pushes the words unspoken his way. "You never let me go." 

Chris nods, looks down to see hands less weathered around her wrists and his face, so much younger. Victoria laughs at them both from the doorway, calls them in for dinner and when Ally leads him into the house, Chris can't remember ever feeling so happy. 

He hears Kate's voice, hushed and angry, from around the corner. Chris can hear himself arguing with her, surprised when he sounds like he has a handle on his emotions, when he remembers that all he wanted to do was wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze. She infuriated him like no one else, creeping beneath Chris' skin and lying dormant, just present enough to itch every now and again, to remind him she was there. He sees Kate whirl around, golden hair sweeping over her shoulder when Ally comes into the room. She calls her pumpkin and pushes her hair back from her face and tells Ally to wait in her room, that Kate has gifts for her favorite niece waiting to be unwrapped. 

It means something to Ally, to hear someone call her their favorite. 

"She liked me most, right, Daddy?" 

And Chris wants to scream at Kate to get her hands off his daughter, that Chris loves Allison more than Kate could ever be capable of doing, but he just grits his teeth beneath a smile, nods. This, Chris can do. He can preserve that image of Kate in her head. 

The gift his sister gives Allison is a silver locket, something far too valuable for a child. Inside, there are photos of Kate and Chris when they were young, and a worn inscription in French on the back. He can't make it out any longer with his eyes, smoothed away by years of wear, but his fingers trace the lines anyhow. They know the feel of the words, what it said once upon a time.

"Aunt Kate, thank you!" She lifts the hank of hair off her neck. "Please help me?" 

He cringes slightly when Kate fastens the locket around Ally's throat, touches a finger to the pendant. "Now we're always in your heart, Ally Cat." 

He tries to shield her from the moment Victoria died, the fear-loss-guilt that washes over him every time without fail. Her reaction is a calming wave, a soft blue push against his mind, and he can almost hear Ally whisper, 'it's not your fault, Daddy.'

_But it is, baby girl. It is. More than you know._

There's no projected battle today in their sim, just a feeling-out for the equipment together, getting them used to being in one another's heads. They spend another hour, back and forth, he sees her in the Kwoon on the island, feels her heartbeat race when that McCall kid saves her a seat in mess, knows her pain when Lydia washes out, decides to put her skills to better use in J-tech.

Chris clutches his chest when she gets the news about Victoria, feels the pulse of fear beating away until someone reassures her that Chris is safe, then it's a golden flush of warmth that lights her up.

'Sweetheart.' Chris can feel her smile, shy but sure.

'Not you, Daddy. It hurt with Kate and Mom. But I have you. And you have me.'

"All I need." He telegraphs a thudding red beat, pride and something else, something darker that spikes a little arrow of fear into him for its ferocity when she says those words.

There's no trepidation from Allison though, she's not afraid. She laughs for real this time, and it's like a glass bell.

'Show me more.' And he opens up a little, lets her feel the power when he faces a kaiju, the adrenaline coursing through him. Gives her a taste of that victory high, how addictive it is.

And she loves it, eats it out of the palm of his hand. Riding the thrill of it, he slides his mind open a little further and Allison pushes forward, laughing until she stops dead, questioning something.

His heart drops and Chris knows Allison sees. She feels the clench of Kate around him when they've detached after a Cat 2 fight, experiences the need to prove to one another they're no longer inches from death, how it shoves them into one another back on base. Ally hears the way Kate sighs when Chris slides inside of her, feels his body relax, the press of his lips against Kate's skin and the burning scratch of her nails and teeth on his shoulders. Shame floods his vision, maroon and thick, like a fog.

He tries to push her away, but she resists, holds tight. She's strong, his girl, stronger than Chris will ever be.

'No, it's ok. I - it's ok.' Her voice is soothing, like a cool finger over his brow, leeching tension away with each stroke. 'You loved her. She loved you. It was obvious.'

And Chris is - he's not okay with it, but if that's what she believes, that it's the drift that makes it this way, she doesn't have to see Kate at fifteen, pressing Chris against the wall of his bedroom, at twenty on her knees for him, how she slithered into his bed at every opportunity she could find and how Chris couldn't ever find the strength to say no. 

There's a light beeping in his ear, a signal breaching the drift. Chris doesn't want it to end here, he wishes he could say more, make Ally understand, but she just thinks 'enough' and pushes them both away.

LOCCENT breaks through, tells him their match was perfect. 

'Standard protocol, Ranger. We'll debrief at 1700 with the Marshal.'

When they come back, the pod is empty. Watching his daughter, his copilot do the same, Chris rips off the outer shell of his suit, sinks to the floor in his circuitry gear. She collides against his chest, and his fingers sink into her hair, pulling her braid loose when her hands curled around his collar. Chris hauls her across his legs as much as Allison crawls into his lap, broken noises wordlessly falling from her lips. 

Her face is pink, glistening with sweat and exhilaration, and the post-Drift high is something Chris remembers well. The endorphins kick pilots into triple-drive and you leave the Pod feeling like you can walk on water or milk the Dome dry. 

Except no one goes into the water these days without a Jaeger. 

Chris knows Tendo shuts down the feed to the pod for an hour after they shed the armored parts of their suits. It's crucial for all the Rangers, but even more important for rookies, that they have a safe place to process the unbelievable high of drifting, then fighting, then celebrating their return in once piece.

They need something to cling to, something to reassure them the Drift is complete. 

The Beckets were usually found curled together, asleep. Both Hansens fight, scramble a little, using each other as human punching bags before settling. 

Chris, he always wants to fuck it out of his system, first chance he gets, has that primal caveman urge for skin on skin contact after hours of composite fibers crashing into leathery hide. It was the most convenient with Victoria, who humored him even though she preferred to debrief immediately, a cold rundown of the strength and weaknesses of the Kaiju. 

Kate obviously turned into an animal, and it took days to still. She prowled out of the med bays toward the Dome floor, eyes lighting on anything and everything that could slake her need. 

Ally - his girl - curls in close, head buried into Chris' shoulder, and he strokes down her head, combing the twined dark strands, into the back of her neck. When his fingers hit her skin, she looks up at him, suspended for a moment, before she writhes in his grasp, rears back, pulls his mouth to hers. 

There's a nanosecond where it could be nothing more filial affirmation that he's not dead, that they are tangible, living creatures. They just completed a near perfect drift on the first try, without any of the hiccups or disaster that usually befalls first time partners.

Except the filthy twist of Ally's tongue, snaking past his lips and crumbling his defenses, is anything but. He tries to pull back but Allison just shakes her head, whines his name, circles her hips against him. Always half-hard the moment he steps free of the gear, Chris is now incapable of rational thought, especially as Allison's tugging the zipper on her suit free. First it's her collarbone exposed, then creamy shoulders, then the whole thing is stripped free of her body, shed like a snakeskin, revealing something new beneath. She's like a siren, transformed before his eyes, beckoning him to her.

There's a hunger in that dark gaze, a strength that will brook no resistance, and she has the knowledge that he won't resist. 

She says nothing, but he's still in her head and can hear the chanted yes-yes-yes-PLEASE when he reaches for her.

Allison fumbles for the pull on his suit, works it down and slides her fingers beneath to touch skin. His chest collides with hers and when he's finally free of the circuitry, her thighs wrap around his hips. Grinding in his lap, Chris can feel the heat of her, radiant and alive against him.

She's muttering his name, not Chris, not Ranger, but _Daddy_ , a keening repeating cry, begging him not to let her go.

There's no preamble, nothing but a carnal drive pushing them together, and it's only a moment before her hips shift and she sinks onto him. Her cunt is slick and tight, clutching at him like her fingers do to his shoulders, and she's hissing through her teeth, cursing under her breath when Chris bottoms out. They sit there for a moment, pressed skin to skin, and then Allison moves.

He doesn't want to know who at the academy taught his little girl to do this, to ride him like a wild, possessed thing, but he's thankful for them. He's grateful for the rotation of her hips, for the rocking motion of her thighs, the fingers that scratch through his hair. He can get angry later, that stab of something in the drift he now realizes is possession will rear its face again, but for now, his mind is on overload, relying purely on the instinct of driving into Allison's needy, willing body.

Because she is taking just as much as she's giving, milking him with each thrust, ordering him through it all.

Allison circles over him tight, and Chris reaches down, slides his fingers over slick skin. She whines at the contact, nearly howls when Chris moves his hand away, presses his forehead to her throat.

'Don't you fucking dare stop,' she threatens him.

He can feel it building inside, same as she does, that echo feeding back into them and her dark eyes fix on his.

'Will you make me come? Please. Favorite, you're my favorite, Daddy, you love me so good, Daddy, please.'

And her voice is wrecked and Chris wonders just how deep the sickness goes that he wants her, his Allison, to come on his cock. That he moves because he needs her pulsing tight around him, pulling the come from his body until Chris can't move, limp and breathless on the floor.

She rears back once more, slams down with a scream and he's done for, fucking up into her, shooting deep inside while she collapses down against him.

His hands find her hair again after arranging her arms around his neck. He leans against the wall, too weak to pull them to a more comfortable position.

He can feel her face go warm against his chest when she curls into him, ducking into his shoulder.

Chris can't tell if he wants to comfort her or congratulate her or scold her for using the drift to her own selfish advantage, maybe it'll be a combination of all three when they move back to quarters.

He can't accept her apology, though, which is exactly what those big brown eyes suddenly searching his are leading up to.

She looks down where they're draped together, sticky with sweat and come and circuitry gel, and tries to bury her face.

'I don't know what to say.'

'Hey.' He tips her face up, won't break the look between them. 'Drift. It's what happens.'

And it's not entirely true, but with family, with pack for the shifters, it is. Chris and Herc had spent a long night and a bottle of very expensive whiskey dancing around the subject after Scott Hansen was kicked out. It just happened. Rest of the world would say it's twisted that he's not shoving Allison away, that he's not throwing her into the hallway, shrouded in clothing and shame, and maybe for other people, they're right. Chris has plenty for which he's ashamed, but for this, at least, Chris has the comfort of the drift to blame. It's the dark, hidden reason family pairs are so few, rejected nearly outright, because the collateral damage sometimes goes too deep.

But they're legacies, he and Herc, and they're fucking legends, and that's why the rules bend in their favor, time and time again, from spouses to siblings to children.

Still, it's a lot to process. He can see Allison start to waver, start to crumble from the overload. Chris pulls her closer, tight against his body, feels the jealous beast shout 'mine' when she molds against him. And maybe that's all that matters anymore.

'So, if I fall, you catch me.'

There's no ribbon in her hair now and Chris certainly can't swing her through the air anymore, but he can hold her tight if she stumbles and stay by her side while she succeeds.

She's an Argent, right? That's what they do. There's no room for failure, so they succeed.

His fingers tangle in her curls and Chris just nods, speaks into the mass of it, a hint of that child gleefully running from him only to turn back and jump straight into his arms.

"I've got you, baby girl. I've got you."


End file.
